


Deadlift Me, Daddy

by pastelswitchblade



Series: South Water Street Gym AU [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Gyms, Light Angst, M/M, No actual daddy kink, Size Difference, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelswitchblade/pseuds/pastelswitchblade
Summary: Modern AU where Zuko is a kickboxing champion and his new personal trainer is thicker than a snicker
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: South Water Street Gym AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102610
Comments: 138
Kudos: 1456





	Deadlift Me, Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my emotional support gays for inspiring me to write huge sokka. i made him for you.

Sokka loved his job.

Sure, sometimes his clients were fussy or difficult, and the gym always had a certain stank come summertime, but training was what he had always loved to do. He had started in college, when his lack of promise (or interest) in academics started to outweigh his need to satisfy his family. Katara had that covered, and he was okay with that. Thankful, even. There was no way he was going to spend an hour each morning trying to squeeze everything into a dress shirt in slacks. Instead, he snapped the elastic waistband of some breezy shorts and smiled as he drove to the South Water Street Gym.

He had a new client consultation today, one of his favorite parts of the process. It almost felt liek he was a therapist, reaching past their desperation to lose ten pounds and into the heart of what they really wanted. Most of the time, it was just a matter of gaining self-confidence and he was happy to provide a path to it.

Sokka was by no means “skinny” himself. He was wide, thick, and as his coworkers would say, “Built like a brick wall that you might like to hug.” Some ex-boyfriends had used the term, “muscle bear,” but he wasn’t quite ready for his coworkers to start calling him that.

He was scrawny as a teen, closeted and angry as the football team ran circles around him in the weight room. But now at twenty-four, he stood a solid five ten and an even more solid 210 pounds. Or at least he was, at his last powerlifting competition weigh-in. He hadn’t checked since then.

He used to be as concerned with his stats as the other trainers at the gym, their artificial tans smoothing over artfully honed muscle and boasting fat percentages in the single digits. Sokka didn’t judge them for it. Their bodies were their art, and their work was masterful. But Sokka fucking loved bread, and was just more concerned with how many grown men he could sling around at any given moment.

Which is probably why his newest client was looking at him like that. The man’s eyes were piercingly sharp, a hazel so bright in the morning light that they shone yellow. One was ringed in a pink scar that rippled out from his cheekbone and disappeared into his shaggy hairline. Sokka was still surprised his eye had survived whatever accident he’d been in. Still, because he’d seen this man before.

The man looked Sokka up and down like a pig at show. Like his credentials were written across his loose cotton tank top. Sokka cleared his throat.

“You must be Zuko, yes? I’m so glad you’ve decided to start your fitness journey with us.” Sokka flashed him a wide smile, his kill shot at clubs. Zuko didn’t flinch. Sokka didn’t let his smile falter. “Your uncle mentioned in his email that you’re looking to cross train?” He pretended to review the papers on his clipboard. “Kickboxing, huh? Pretty impressive. You pretty good?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

When Sokka wasn’t at the gym or the club, Sokka was at kickboxing matches. He never had much interest in participating. He was happy to just admire the power and accuracy with which artfully honed bodies collided with each other. He just wasn’t built for that kind of  _ speed.  _ And the Jasmine Dragon Gym was a bit of a local legend, even outside of the sport. The owner’s family took home medals and trophies like stamp collectors, each one of them blurs of fury in the ring. 

Having the gym’s second-most famous champion (and token male fighter) standing right in front of Sokka was making him more nervous than he would have liked to admit. 

“Pretty good… I suppose,” Zuko mumbled.  _ You suppose?!  _ Sokka’s brain screamed incredulously. 

“So what were you looking to work on?” Sokka clicked his pen and flipped past the measurements and stats in his notepad. At first he’d been thankful the Jasmine Dragon’s owner had sent them over. Now, guiltily, he kind of wished he’d gotten to take them himself. “I’m sure you’re doing a lot of endurance work at the gym already, so I was thinking we’d start you on a build regimine. Keeping you in weight class, of course, but—”

“Look, I don’t need this,” Zuko hissed. It was more exasperated than venomous. “My uncle just seems to think I spend too much time at the gym and wants me to hang out with more,” he waved a loose hand at Sokka, “More  _ men _ . Something about my lack of father figure or something. 

“I’m only twenty-four,” Sokka chuckled.

“And I’m twenty-five. Bit too old to try and fix my daddy issues, don’t you think?” Zuko swayed over to a cable machine and hopped onto the bench. He idly reached up for the rubber handles. “I’m not even the one paying for this, so you don’t need to build a program for me, or whatever. Really. Just think of this as an early paid lunch and go chill for an hour or something. I don’t need someone to tell me what to do. I know my way around a gym, for goodness sake.”

“Zuko?”

“Yes?”

“You’re holding those backwards.”

Zuko let the cables snap back into place, and Sokka winced as the weight plates slammed together. Zuko whipped around, levelling another piercing glare at Sokka. It was handicapped by the growing blush gathering around his right ear. Sokka held in a laugh.

“I’m sure you have plenty of knowledge,” Sokka continued. “But the whole point of cross training is exposing your body to types of movement it’s not used to. I promise you, it’ll make you a better fighter.”

“I’m already a good fighter,” Zuko snapped.

“But are you the best?”

Sokka regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. Zuko’s expression darkened, and Sokka’s heart cracked as he saw a glimmer of hurt wash over Zuko’s face.

“I’m sorry, that was out of line—”

“No,” Zuko sighed. “You’re right. I’m not the best. But...I want to be.” Zuko wiped his hands down his joggers as he stood. “Alright then, big boy. Convince me that this is worth my time. Show me what you got.”

Sokka shoved  _ Big Boy?!  _ into the back of his brain behind his Wall of Professionalism and tossed his clipboard to the side. He flashed a wide smile again, happy to see it have some effect this time. Zuko looked confused for a second before giving a grimace in return. “Let’s get you warmed up!”

Zuko was (unfortunately) just as flexible as Sokka imagined he would be, so he hustled him through warm up stretches and got him in front of a barbell. Zuko seemed interested in learning olympic lifts at least, since they didn't have a proper bar set up at the Jasmine Dragon. Sokka tried not to let his heart sing as he explained how snatches differed from cleans, front squats from back squats, and why deadlifting was his favorite. “It’s so basic, I know,” Sokka smiled sheepishly. “But that’s why I like it. Pick up as much as your body can possibly endure, put it back down. It’s just… primal.” 

Zuko looked up at him with an unreadable expression. Sokka only had a couple of inches on the guy, but his much thinner frame made Zuko look incredibly small. Powerful enough to knock a man unconscious, he’d seen it, but small.

“Sorry, I must be rambling. I’m a powerlifter, so if I ever talk too much about it,  _ please _ stop me,” Sokka blurted.

“Don’t apologize,” Zuko shrugged. “I’m learning.” 

He smiled, just barely, but it was enough to send Sokka’s brain into a 404 error. As he tried to reboot, Zuko held his hands out to the bar in front of him. “Show me how to lift the dead, big guy.”

Sokka shuffled to the bar, sinking into coach mode without much effort. The words tumbled out of him as he approached the bar, bending forward at his hips. He placed his hands on the front and back of his trunk as he emphasized core support. Zuko’s eyes followed his hands. They continued to follow Sokka’s hands as they moved from his belly to his thighs. He slid them along his hamstrings and IT bands, warning against strain injuries to the knee area and lower back. Sokka straightened up slowly, placing his hands at the top of his butt to show where to finish the lift. 

Sokka finally glanced over at Zuko again, and immediately felt his face go flush. Zuko was staring. He should have been, Sokka was demonstrating form, but... Zuko still hadn’t noticed Sokka had stopped talking. Zuko’s hands were propped on his hips, but he had slung his weight to one hip, seemingly unconscious of it. His eyes were glazed over as he fanned over Sokka’s ass and thighs, head tilted. Maybe Sokka was imagining it, but… Was his mouth open?

“Did you get all that?”

Zuko’s head whipped up at breakneck speeds, his right ear almost as red as his left. “Yeah,” Zuko nodded, not even missing a beat. “Let me try.”

They danced like this for weeks. 

After Zuko agreed to Sokka’s initial 6 week plan, they fell into an easy rhythm. Zuko would come to the gym in the mornings, lift with Sokka, and spend the rest of his day training. From what he could tell, Zuko’s “dayjob” was helping wrangle the Jasmine Dragon’s kiddie classes. He really did spend way too much time at that gym. 

As time wore on, Sokka became convinced that he had imagined Zuko’s gaze on that first day. Even if he had, Sokka knew he was kind of...thick. Even a straight man might look twice, just for science sake. But every once in a while Sokka would place his hand on Zuko’s back or shoulders to correct his form, and the skin underneath his palm would ignite with heat. The tip of Zuko’s ear would go pink, and Sokka would have to use all of his massive strength to not reach out and touch it.

It was one day when Zuko was grumbling about the audacity of some certain six year olds that Sokka had an idea. It didn’t feel like a particularly smart idea, but he might be able to pass it off as a logical request. “I want to see how you train,” Sokka said. Zuko exhaled as he slowly lowered the cable weights back down (Sokka made sure Zuko’s first and last time being a weight slamming asshole was that first day) and turned to face him. 

“I can have Uncle Iroh email you my schedule if you want,” Zuko suggested. He wiped the sweat from his brow haphazardly, ponytail escapees still sticking to his temples. “He keeps really good records of that stuff.”

Sokka nodded, still determined. “That might work, but I’m thinking a more hands-on approach.”

Zuko bit at his dry lower lip as he thought. The past couple of weeks had brought new expressions Sokka didn’t even think the stoic athlete could make, and Sokka quite liked every one of them.

“You’re probably really busy, but maybe you could come to ring sometime? I could run you through my program.”

Sokka’s brain sent out a tiny war cry as he nodded thoughtfully. “That could work, that could work...I don’t think I have any appointments after you next Friday?”

Zuko smiled, a little wider each day it seemed. “Sounds good to me. I’ll let the front desk know you’re coming.”

Sokka tried not to let his face show _ Access to the Jasmine Dragon training facility!  _ and instead stepped around the back of Zuko’s machine to increase his load. “I promise not to get in the way too much. I’ll be just a fly on the wall.”

Zuko’s smile twisted, something mischievous glinting in his eyes for the first time. “Oh no, big boy. You’re working out with me.”

Sokka’s eyes went wide. That was definitely not part of the plan. How could he fanboy in peace if he was going to be sweating over a jump rope? “No, I don’t think that’s necessary, I’m not a huge fan of endurance training,” he said. He patted his round belly. “Me and running don’t really get along.”

Somehow, that made Zuko’s smile grow wider and his resolve grow stronger. “Nope. If you ever want to see me lift a barbell again,  _ you _ are going to have to run a few laps. The trainer shall become the trainee!” And with that, Zuko laughed. It wasn’t very big, but it was open and full of guffawing  _ Ha! _ sounds.

“Only if you promise to buy me some pizza afterwards,” Sokka bargained. It was much more suggestive than he meant it to be. He’d gotten carried away in the way Zuko’s laughter made his brain feel like jelly and he said the first thing that came to his mind. And apparently, his first reaction was to flirt.

But Zuko kept smiling, giggling, and said, “Sure thing, big boy. As much pizza as you want!”

Sokka felt a little giddy that it had all gone so well, and started laughing, too. Maybe, just maybe, he could hold onto some hope.

An abrupt notification sound rang out from Sokka’s pants. It was undeniably loud. It had been quite a while since he had heard it last, so it took half a second before he realized what it was. He stopped laughing. He realized it was suspicious way too late, and Zuko stopped laughing, too. Maybe he hadn’t heard it. Maybe he had no idea what it was, there was no way he would know what it was. Sokka could play it cool, maybe. He prayed, but no one answered. Another Grindr message came in seconds after the first.

Sokka shot his hand into his pocket to silence his phone, quickly swiping away the notification from his screen. “Sorry about that,” he rambled. “Thought I had turned that off. So rude, having your phone go off in a session like that, right? Unprofessional.” 

Zuko paused for a moment, expression unreadable. “Are you going to answer him?” he finally said.

_ Him. _

Sokka reeled. A dam broke under his T-shirt sleeves as he went into flop sweats. It wasn’t just that Zuko knew what a Grindr notification sounds like. 

No one just...  _ knows _ . 

But Zuko continued to stare at him expectantly, like he’d just asked what Sokka was having for dinner. “No!” Sokka said quickly. Too quickly? He had no idea. It was very hot, suddenly. “No, gosh no, probably not. I mean not probably, definitely— You know I’ve been meaning to uninstall that, I really don’t know why haven’t! Probably should. Definitely.”

Zuko nodded. Sokka nodded back. This was it. Even if Zuko was gay— Sokka was having a hard time even processing that thought, let alone what Zuko might think of his full volume notifications rolling in. Even if… What now? Zuko gathered his water bottle and tossed his towel with ease into a large bag near the rolling door. 

“So, next Friday…” Zuko started. Sokka’s vision started to cave in. Zuko didn’t want to hang out with some sex-starved bear, what was he thinking?

“I’ll see you at like two then, yeah?” 

Sokka let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Two sounds great.”

  
  
  


“Spar with me.”

Sokka short-circuited. “Excuse me?”

“You said you wanted to see what my training looked like, right? I finish every workout in the ring, so… Spar with me.”

Sokka rolled away, slowly gathering up his battered body off of the mat. Zuko had spent the last three hours on a tirade of laps around the block, box jump drills, and jump rope sets. Sokka wasn’t convinced that Zuko was above playing a practical joke on him. There was no way this was really what he did every afternoon, even after the workout Sokka gave him. He had been reeling through adjustments he should be making to avoid massive injury as he melted into the gym floor. “I don’t think I would be a very good partner. Sparring partner. I’d be so slow, I don’t think I should…”

“Come on,” Zuko whined, somehow still full of energy. He flipped himself up to his feet with ease, obviously just showing off. “If I keep training with you, I’m going to have to start fighting bigger guys soon anyways.”

“I told you, I’ll keep you in weight class. Zuko, I’m  _ exhausted. _ Can’t you just use the bag?”

Zuko pouted, and Sokka tried not to let it make him smile. As they became closer, Zuko had grown playful. Sokka would hazard to say he was a brat sometimes, whining and groaning whenever Sokka pushed him into an extra set. He would roll around dramatically at the site of Sokka sliding an extra plate onto his bar, and make ridiculous bets about his run times to win energy drinks from the vending machine at Sokka’s expense. Sokka’s emotional expense, too— more energy drinks just made Zuko more chaotic.

Sokka sighed, and Zuko took it as a yes. He smiled, Sokka swooned, and Zuko ran across the gym to grab gear. He climbed into the ring with nimble grace, dragging Sokka up with him. “You don’t even have to do anything,” he cooed. He shoved a headguard over Sokka’s damp hair and shimmied large full body sparring pads up his arms. For some reason, the fact that they were larger made Sokka more nervous. That meant his whole body was fair game. “Just hold those up and um… Protect yourself!” 

Zuko slid his foot back and sank into his ready position. Sokka just stood there. He was panicking for so many reasons, his brain couldn’t choose just one to focus on. One, he was in a kickboxing ring about to get his ass kicked by one of the best fighters in the city. Two, said fighter was incredibly and distractingly attractive. Sokka had tried (barely) to fight what he knew was an embarrassing school boy crush from forming, but it was a losing battle. Sokka himself had hewn new swells and curves in Zuko’s arms and chest, filling out the gaps between tight balls of fighter sinew with powerful, heavy muscle. His shirt clung to them, damp with the early summer heat wafting through the gym. He had, quite literally, done this to himself.

Zuko rose up on his toes, like a cat raising its hackles. “Protect yourself,” he warned, and Sokka wanted to sob. Another reason he was panicking was that he wasn’t lying when he said he was exhausted. Even just lifting the pads to cover the softer sides of his body seemed a gargantuan effort. If Zuko started to strike full force, Sokka wasn’t sure how long he would last.

In a flash, Zuko made his first offensive attack. Sokka could tell he wasn’t using his full strength, but the swift kick against the flat of one pad still made him stumble. Sokka had seen Zuko’s full strength. It probably would have knocked him to the floor.

Zuko smiled. “Protect yourself,” he hummed. He attacked again, a quick sequence of punches that hid a final knee strike, right at Sokka’s gut level. Sokka stumbled again, bouncing off of the ropes. 

“Really, Zuko. I don’t think you’re going to get anything out of this.”

“ _ Protect yourself _ ,” Zuko said firmly, again attacking Sokka with a series of blows that never escaped the cushioning pads but still sent Sokka teetering. 

“Pro—”

“I’m trying!”

Zuko put his hands down. He strode over, and with one hand he pushed a pad into Sokka’s side. He stumbled again. 

“Is that how you stand when you’re lifting?”

Sokka sighed. “No, of course not.”

“Then why are you standing like that?”

Sokka flushed. “I don’t know, don’t fighters stay on their toes? Or something?” Zuko pushed him again. “Will you stop that?!”

Zuko’s demeanor changed as he approached again. Sokka flinched out of the way. “I’m not going to push, just relax. Put your arms down.” Sokka gladly released his death grip on the pads. “Now, I want you to split snatch the pads.”

Sokka wanted to protest, but Zuko seemed perfectly serious. It was a side of Zuko that Sokka hadn’t seen yet. Stern, but somehow gentler. Understanding. He sighed, but tapped the pads to the ground anyway. In one fluid movement, he ripped the pads up to his shoulders, taking the half-second of airtime at the top to jump one foot forward and one back, ducking under his hands. As he sank into it, Zuko pushed him again. This time, Sokka didn’t budge.

“Good!” Zuko hummed. He placed his hands on Sokka’s hips, pressing down just slightly towards the floor. “This is your homebase. No matter where you move or react, you return here. This is what a fighting stance looks like, not twinkle toe-ing around for no reason. Here, you are immovable. If you can hold this and take a hit, it doesn’t matter how fast you are. That’s the beauty of heavier fighters. The strength to endure.” Zuko met his eye, and smiled.

Sokka felt his head swim. His only anchor was the searing heat of Zuko’s hands on his hips, and the sharp honey yellow in his eyes. He vaguely registered his hands still suspended above his head, and the headguard growing hotter with each passing second. He was sure if it got any hotter though, his head would start steaming. Maybe his brain would boil and it would save him from this moment. Zuko’s praise, Zuko’s touch, Zuko’s smile and smell...it was too much. He leaned down.

As soon as he moved, he realized something was wrong. His vision closed in like the end of an old cartoon, and the last thing he heard before he hit the ground was Zuko calling his name.

He jolted awake as cool water poured down his neck and forehead. He sputtered, blinking wet hair out of his eyes as he returned to the land of the living.

“Whoops,” he grumbled, propping himself up on his elbows as he turned towards Zuko. His nervous smile quickly fell as he caught sight of Zuko’s face. Zuko knelt over him, now empty water bottle crushed in a vice grip at his side. Sokka’s headguard and pads were tossed to the side, forgotten. His eyes were wide, horrified, brow knitted in concern. They swam with tears of relief for the shortest of moments before he closed them and smacked Sokka on the arm with an open palm.

“Ouch, damn,” Sokka chuckled. Zuko hit him again, lighter than the first but still carrying a kickboxer’s strength. “I told you, running and I don’t really get along…”

Zuko said nothing, just continued his barrage of Sokka’s arm. His breath grew shallow, more sniffs than real inhales, and Sokka reached out for his wrists. They felt bony and burning hot in his hands, and it took what little strength Sokka had to hold them still. “Hey, hey,” Sokka whispered. Zuko thrashed against him just once before a quiet sob racked through him.

Sokka gasped, pulling Zuko’s wrists behind him and catching the smaller man against his body. He probably stank to the high heavens, and he was still dripping with water where Zuko had splashed him, but Zuko didn’t seem to mind. He collapsed into Sokka’s chest, waves of angry and relieved sobbing making his body shudder. He took a couple more powerless swings at Sokka’s arms now tightly wrapped around his middle and up his back, before resting his hands on Sokka’s biceps. He murmured something against Sokka’s chest, and Sokka released his grip just slightly. He wasn’t ready to let go, not just yet.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko repeated. He kept his forehead knocked against Sokka’s clavicle. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed you like tha— oof!”

Sokka slammed Zuko back into his chest. He still barely had the strength to stay upright, so he leaned over him and Zuko made a small noise of concern. Sokka panicked, and without thinking he fell back against the wooden floor and took Zuko with him.

Zuko landed on his chest with a tiny cry, but made no move to scramble out of Sokka’s grasp. “It’s not your fault,” Sokka said firmly. Zuko moved to protest, but Sokka hushed him. “It is absolutely not your fault. I knew my limits, and I should have stuck to them. I’m a trainer for goodness sakes, I really should have known better.” Sokka swallowed, trying to keep his brain from registering Zuko’s thigh pressed to the front of his shorts. “I don’t know, I guess I was just trying to impress you, or something.”

Zuko propped his hands on Sokka’s shoulders, lifting himself just slightly. It was enough to feel where their shirts had stuck together and where Zuko’s knee landed between the thick pillows of Sokka’s thighs. “Why?” he asked, like the reason wasn’t the most obvious thing. Sokka refused to look him in the eye.

“I don’t know, I just did. I’m your trainer, I’m supposed to be…” Sokka trailed off. He was Zuko’s trainer.  _ Only  _ his trainer. And however Zuko might look at his ass, or however he was looking down at him right now (Sokka didn’t allow himself the privilege to see it), Sokka had a code of honor to uphold. It was the scummiest form of unprofessionalism, a trainer thirsting after their client. He had sat through countless uncomfortable training videos warning against the dangers of sexual harassment in the fitness world. They were made even more uncomfortable by the fact that most were concerned with ways to protect his career, not his clients.

Nothing about holding a client against his prone, sweaty body was upholding a code of honor. So with a pained laugh, he lifted Zuko off of him and began to stand. 

“I’m supposed to be leading the way, not the other way around, aren’t I? I’m supposed to be a role model, and here I am embarrassing myself. Just a killshot to my male ego, bro,” Sokka joked.  _ Bro? _ It sounded so fake, but he didn’t really have the energy to be convincing. He barely had the strength to pull himself up the ropes as it was. Zuko stayed on the ground for a second, his hands hovering outwards where they’d been gripping Sokka’s shoulders. The spot still burned on Sokka’s skin.

Sokka stumbled, cursing himself. He still really hadn’t done anything to fix his heat exhaustion, relying on the steady press of Zuko’s body against him to carry him this far. The loss of contact made his stomach churn over like an empty acid jacuzzi. Zuko shook himself from his stupor and ran to grab the stool from the corner of the ring. He brought it to Sokka and pushed him down onto it, little resistance to be found in his big body. Sokka closed his eyes for what he thought was a blink, but when he opened them Zuko was back with a protein bar and a bottle of Gatorade in his hands. He hand-fed Sokka with pieces of artificial cookie dough flavor, until Sokka had enough strength to remember his resolve and take the rest of the bar in his hand. 

“Are you going to have enough strength to drive home?” Zuko asked, and Sokka hated how gentle he sounded. For once, he wished Zuko would just tease him about his size and leave him alone. Sokka’s predatory ass didn’t deserve this kindness. Sokka just nodded, taking a large gulp of Gatorade.

“Are you sure?” Zuko continued. “I can call you a Lyft.” 

_ Just stop.  _ “I’m sure, really.” Sokka stood up, albeit slowly, as if to prove he was okay. “See? Good as new. Thanks for the bar,” he said. He shoved the rest of it in his mouth to stop from saying, “And thanks for crying about me, and hugging me, and being hot!” He clamored out of the ring with a little haste and very little grace, and gathered up his things. 

He hazarded one final glance up at Zuko, and immediately regretted it. The automatic lights had shut off hours ago, leaving one lone spotlight over the ring. That and the failing sunlight ringed Zuko in a glow that Sokka might say was ethereal. His shoulders were slumped forward, still clutching the bar wrapper and Gatorade bottle in his hands. His eyes were still red with tears, his right starting to puff. He looked...confused, and Sokka hated it. He hated how cheerful his hand felt as he waved back to Zuko, hated how a reassuring smile felt on his lips, hated how hurt Zuko looked as he backed away, stepping out of the gym and closing the door on everything that just happened.

The dance changed.

Their easy rhythm became disjointed noise. Sokka barely even remembered what they chatted about from one session to the next. When he felt the conversation steer towards anything even remotely flirty, he would drive it into the nearest tree and start again. Once, he went from the digestive benefits of pineapples to car insurance. To just… discussing car insurance. It was the most unsexy thing he could think of.

His attempts to cool down his unprofessional behavior didn’t go unnoticed. Zuko never failed to level him with a confused and eventually annoyed glare whenever Sokka refused to dunk his flirty allyoops. But Sokka pretended not to notice Zuko noticing, and hoped sticking his head in the sand would be enough. It was going to have to be.

Sokka even stopped going to kickboxing matches. He was gearing up for his own competition soon anyways, which thankfully took up much of his free weekend time. But he missed the rowdy echoes of the fight night crowd, missed the sound of skin against skin. He also missed bread. As much as he’d like to bury himself in comfort foods, his next competition was in less than two weeks and he needed to cut a few pounds. He was just barely above his usual weight class, and he wasn’t about to let mournful pining into a pile of grilled cheeses ruin his chances at a medal. The self pity cheese would have to wait.

“Are you doing okay?” Zuko asked him one day, looking over his shoulder on the adductor machine like it was devoid of eroticism. Sokka glanced at himself in the mirror. His jaw was tense and his eyes just a bit sunken, but that was normal enough for seven in the morning.

“Sure, of course. Why do you ask?”

Zuko shrugged, completing another couple of reps with a thoughtful look on his face. “I don’t know, you just seem…” His eyes met Sokka’s in the mirror and Sokka immediately turned away, suddenly very interested in his clipboard. Zuko sighed. “You seem smaller lately.”

Sokka paused, not sure how to respond. Sure, he probably looked a bit smaller because he was five pounds down, but he had a feeling that’s not what Zuko meant. 

Before he could make an excuse, a hand clapped down on Sokka’s shoulder with considerable force, enough to send a smaller man flying. Sokka just winced as he recognized the ring on a tanned pinky.

“That’s because Gym Sokks here is cutting for the big comp next week! Aren’t ya, big guy?”

“Jet, I told you not to call me that.” Sokka wasn’t sure how Jet was still employed by their gym. He pulled enough clients on looks alone, his lean muscle and bad boy charm collected all manner of people. But while Sokka was willing to compare Progressive to Esurance just to avoid a sexual harassment charge, Jet was...not so willing.

Zuko let the machine clang open between his thighs and the sound made Sokka jump. He turned to see Zuko turn a bright beet red, staring down at the floor between his knees. Jet glanced down and smiled a smile Sokka hated to see.

“Zucchini baby,” Jet sang. “It’s been awhile.” 

Zuko sighed. “Yes,  _ Jet.  _ It has.” Sokka saw a blinding white. He wasn’t usually the jealous type, but the way Jet looked Zuko up and down turned Sokka’s blood to ice. 

Jet scratched at the back of his neck, flexing a bicep while he was at it. “You know,” he mused dramatically, “It would be nice to… Catch up, if you know what I mean.”

The ice in Sokka’s viens shattered. “Jet, please be professional.  _ For once, _ ” he growled. 

Jet chuckled, patting Sokka on the shoulder again like an oversized dog. “Relax, Gym Sokks. He’s not  _ my _ client. Loosen up, damn. You’re making it drafty over here. Hope I see you around, Zuks,” he winked, and finally strode off. He left a thick fog of silence in his wake. 

Desperate to cling to the failing bricks of his wall, Sokka spoke first. “You didn’t tell me you knew Jet. That’s… That’s cool.”

“It was one night,” he scoffed. Sokka felt his gut wrench. “And I didn’t know he worked here.” 

Sokka put his own hurt to the side as he saw Zuko’s eyes darting with anxiety. “He only works evenings,” Sokka reassured him. “He’s only here because we have a team meeting after this.”

Relief flickered across Zuko’s face before he frowned again. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a competition coming up?”

Sokka froze. Words tumbled out from the top of a dam. “It just didn’t seem relevant,” he said.

“Relevant? It doesn’t have to be— Sokka, you don’t have to keep your whole life a secret at work.”

“I wasn’t keeping it a secret, I was just—”

“Just keeping it from me?” Zuko shot. 

Sokka sighed. “I’d rather not bore my clients with my whole life story,” he recited. It was the easy answer, but obviously not the one Zuko wanted. He sat back into the vinyl pads with a huff.

“Your life doesn’t bore me,” he mumbled, and went back to work on completing his set before Sokka could answer.

He had thought about inviting Zuko. Weeks earlier, when he was still entertaining the notion that he could just be friends with the fighter. But then he found out what Zuko’s body felt like against his, and all bets were off. He ate a few grilled cheeses about it already, so he would be fine. He had competed in plenty of meets without Zuko there, and this one wouldn’t be any different. It was fine.

Zuko arrived at the Ba Sing Se Spring Invitational Powerlifting Competition far too early. Volunteers were still setting up, and competitors had just started to trickle in. He hid behind a few people who’d come in even before him, and tried to make himself look as unassuming as possible. It wasn’t his strong suit.

The venue wasn’t difficult to find. Lifting competitions in the area didn’t happen very often, about every three months it seemed. Only one was happening today. And only one had a picture of Sokka next to his competitor bio, flashing a wide toothy grin with a sandbag on his shoulder. Zuko had stared at the picture a bit longer than he would admit. It had been a long time since he had seen Sokka smile like that.

The competition started up with very little pomp, and the whole thing seemed so casual. His matches were always a cacophony of cheers and overdramatic commentary, so the host gym seemed unusually quiet. Even as more family and friends trickled in around him, their encouraging cheers were nothing like the aggressive barking he was used to. That he liked.

He liked when crowds were loud. It was like a blanket of white noise that helped him hone in on his opponent, to drown out the voices of doubt in his own head. Sometimes, he could hear certain voices cut through that made him smile. A loud, unabashed voice of encouragement that wasn’t easy to forget.

Zuko jumped when the announcer drawled out Sokka’s name. He sat up in his seat before realizing he was still trying to hide. Luckily the woman in front of him stood, concealing him behind her oversized blue sweater. 

“Let’s go Sokka, let’s go!” she screamed. 

The two people on either side of her stood up, too. “Let’s go Sokka, let’s go!” they echoed. A few other audience members giggled and the trio sat down, still clapping and whooping. As Sokka emerged, Zuko wished he had never said Sokka had looked small. Here, on the small wooden stage in tight shorts and an even tighter tank top, he looked anything but.

His chest barrelled outwards like the trunk of a redwood tree, his waist coming in just slightly from his cut. His shorts curved around massive hips, straining against the stacked muscle of his thighs. His calves swelled under a smattering of leg hair until his ankle met the tops of bright blue converse sneakers. He was a platonic ideal of strength.

Even his face looked different. It wasn’t Sokka cracking jokes, or gently coaching form, or looking up from a crowd. It wasn’t even Sokka laid out on the wooden flats of a fighting ring, his face flush and eyes heavy. His eyes were dark, focused, humor gone from his face as he stared down at the bar in front of him. It was the most deadly serious Zuko had ever seen him be. Zuko swallowed thickly.

Zuko wasn’t entirely sure how the point system worked, but he did know that the number of pounds the announcer called out was higher than any of the other competitors they had seen. It was a deadlift, Sokka’s favorite, and Zuko tried not to think about how many of himself fit into that weight. The twenty second timer started, and Sokka approached the bar. He clicked out his knees, set his jaw, and pulled. 

He dropped it. The bar had only reached about halfway up his calves before he did, shaking his head in anger. Zuko let out a tiny gasp. Had he failed? Was that it? 

“What happened?” The shorter woman in front of him whispered. The taller woman leaned over to her.

“He failed the first attempt. He only has one more before the timer runs out.”

Zuko looked back to the stage. Sokka was frantically chalking up again, sparing no time as he set up for his second attempt. Zuko chewed at a thumbnail, just barely sitting on the edge of his metal folding chair. The timer continued to countdown behind him, but Sokka didn’t move.

“Come on, Sokka,” the woman in front of him mumbled. “Come on, ponytail. You’ve got this.”

Sokka continued to stare down at the bar, an uncertain twitch in his brow. The timer flashed into the single digits, and Zuko nearly fell off his chair. The crowd was quiet now, too quiet. He had to do something, say something. 

The woman in front of him stood.

From the depths of her lungs, she let out a sound so loud, Zuko saw the whole audience jump. It was visceral, something that touched at the recesses of one’s genetic memory and flipped a forgotten switch. It was primal, ancient, and violent. Before anyone could react, Sokka returned the cry. His voice boomed and echoed around the metal scaffolding, and ignited fear in the firepit of Zuko’s stomach. As he screamed, he lifted the bar with ease beyond his knees until he was standing perfectly straight. The metal bar bent under the force of his plates before he dropped it to the ground, and the judge gave a thumbs up. 

The crowd went wild, cheering and laughing nervously, their monotone modern lives touched by something that they forgot existed. Zuko cheered with the rest of them, the fear in his stomach replaced by something hotter and lower that made his mouth go dry. The shorter man in front of him nudged the woman gently with his elbow.

“Damn, Katara! You’re gonna embarrass him,” he laughed.

Katara scoffed. “Sokka is impossible to embarrass. Besides, he’s my brother. It’s my job to embarrass him.”

Zuko forgot how to breath. He also forgot how to control his body, apparently, because it wasn’t until everyone around him was seated that he realized he had jumped to his feet. And as Sokka looked out with relief and victory over the audience, Zuko was still standing. They locked eyes for only a second. As soon as Zuko saw Sokka’s smile start to fall, he rushed from the room, stumbling over strange knees and poorly placed power cords.

He had barely made it out of the metal side door before a rough, dry hand caught his arm. But instead of pulling him back, it dragged him forward into an empty alley beside the gym and the door slammed shut behind them.

Zuko stared down at the blue converse in front of him. They were his only anchor, his belly still filled with light and fluttery things that made the back of his neck feel hot. His mind was reeling, and the impossible cage of Sokka’s arms bracketing him against a cool brick wall wasn’t helping any. Sokka smelled of sweat and chalk, and Zuko’s body heaved with the memory of those same arms crushing him into Sokka’s chest. Making him feel so small, but safe.

“You came,” Sokka whispered. It was so quiet, so different from the cry he had just made.

“I came,” Zuko sang nervously. “I’m sor— I hope— Is that okay?”

Zuko glanced up. Sokka stared down at him with the same dark, heavy eyes he had in the Jasmine Dragon that night. Something sad, but something else.

“Why?” Sokka asked.

Zuko squirmed. “You always come to mine, so—” he bit his lip to stop himself, but it was too late. Sokka’s arms fell to his side.

“What do you mean? You— You knew?”

Zuko shrugged. “It’s kind of hard not to hear your voice in the crowd. You’re pretty loud. I promise I didn’t stalk you or anything, my uncle really did think I needed to get out more. But after a couple of sessions, I realized why your voice sounded familiar.” Sokka went beet red, his face caught somewhere between anger and embarrassment. “I liked it though, when you cheered for me. I felt… It made me feel powerful. So thank you, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sokka scoffed. “We’ve known each other for weeks, months! Why did you just let me keep embarrassing myself like that?”

Zuko was done playing. “It was cute,” he admitted. “Usually the people who come to my matches will get so weird outside of fight night. Like they don’t know what to say if they’re not praising me. I appreciate it, sure, but it’s so...empty. You never praised me for nothing. From day one, you didn’t try to convince me I was the best or that I was stupid for thinking otherwise. You just… helped me. And I liked it.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Sokka muttered.

“Then don’t say anything, because I’m not done,” Zuko huffed. “And then you, you hugged me and suddenly everything changed. You got so  _ weird  _ and hid things from me and I hated it. I hate it!”

“I was just trying to be professional—”

“ _ Fuck _ professional! Damn it Sokka, don’t you get it? I like you!”

Sokka stood there with his mouth agape, a small blush blooming atop his tanned cheekbones. “You— You do?” he asked.

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Yes, you big dummy, I’ve been obvious as hell. And if I’m not mistaken, I think you like me, too.”

Sokka’s blush grew, and Zuko willed away the need to rise up on his tippy toes and kiss it away. He needed to hear Sokka say it first, needed to know that he wasn’t crazy and the last months weren’t for nothing. But Sokka shook his head, and Zuko’s heart dropped.

“I can’t, Zuko,” Sokka whispered. “It doesn’t matter how I feel, you’re my  _ client _ . I’m not— I’m not like that. I’m not like Jet. I won’t be.”

They stood in silence for what felt like hours. Zuko felt Sokka slipping away as he racked his brain. It wasn’t going to end like this. He refused to let it end like this, to let this incredible, giant, sexy, goofy man just slip through his fingers. Not after weeks of Sokka’s coaching had convinced him that maybe, just maybe he deserved to try something new. Something selfish.

“You’re fired!” Zuko shouted. Sokka looked at him in shock and confusion, but Zuko just smiled. “You’re fired!”

“I heard you the first time, I’m— what the hell?”

Zuko took a step towards Sokka in the alley, and Sokka retreated. “You’re fired,” Zuko said simply. “I’m firing you. I am no longer in need of your services.”

“I don’t understand, didn’t you just say you liked me?” Sokka sputtered. Zuko took another step forward, and Sokka took another step back.

“Exactly. And if I fire you, I’m no longer your client, right? And you don’t have any code of conduct or whatever, right?”

Sokka’s face softened into understanding. “R-right,” he said. He took another step back, and Zuko took another step forward.

“Which means you can do whatever you want, right?”

Sokka’s back knocked against the brick wall of the other building and he closed his eyes with a nervous laugh. “Right,” he whispered.

Zuko crowded into Sokka’s chest, chin tilted up with a newfound confidence. “Then what do you want to do, Sokka?”

Sokka’s hands came up by his sides, his hands clenching at empty air a few times before returning to his sides. “Zuko, I-I can’t,” he stammered.

He let out a small noise of surprise as Zuko pressed his chest into Sokka’s sternum and felt the rapid pounding of his heart there. His nose brushed just slightly against the bottom of Sokka’s chin as he whispered, “Don’t hold back.”

In one easy pull, Sokka flipped Zuko into the wall behind him and caged him in with arms so heavy, they shaded him from the afternoon sun. Sokka pressed his lips into Zuko’s, gentle and reverent at first but with a growing hunger that made Zuko gasp as he pulled away. Sokka took one hand from the wall to grab hold of Zuko’s chin, fingers cool against his burning skin. Sokka held Zuko’s mouth open with his thumb as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip, licking into Zuko’s mouth with a pleased sigh. Zuko’s hands fluttered up to claw at Sokka’s arms, his fingers running along the swells and curves and circling around the hair on his forearms. Sokka grunted, and took both his hands off of the wall to capture Zuko’s face in them. 

It was so overwhelming, Sokka’s hands and mouth and scent holding him hostage against the bricks, that Zuko let his head loll back as he moaned. Sokka licked and nipped at the new expanse of neck, his hands wandering down to pull Zuko’s hips against his own.

Sokka paused with a chuckle, pulling back just an inch. “Already?” he hummed, rolling his hips forward into Zuko’s hard print. 

Zuko gasped, snapping his head back down to hide in Sokka’s shoulder. “You kind of, um… Seeing you in there. Like that. Hearing you. Got me kind of… Worked up, I guess.”

Sokka’s sigh turned into a deep growl as he pressed Zuko deeper into the wall, so close and connected Zuko could barely move. Zuko keened as Sokka dipped into his neck again, his ministrations turning to sharp bites and heavy sucks.

“God, just like that,” Zuko whined softly, letting his hands snake across Sokka’s back and down to his ass.

“You like it rough, baby?” Sokka chuckled, and Zuko gripped Sokka’s ass in surprise. It was far too early for dirty talk. But Zuko was already so far gone that he just nodded, bucking up against him. “Didn’t expect that,” Sokka continued. “Well, didn’t expect you to feel like  _ this  _ about me,” he said as he ran a palm over the front of Zuko’s jeans.

“Are you crazy? Why the f-fuck would I not like you like that?”

Sokka shrugged, comically shy even as he gripped the entire base of Zuko’s neck in one hand. “I figured you’d prefer guys who— well guys who look like Jet.”

Zuko let out a bark of laughter. “Guys like Jet can’t throw me around like an empty hacky sack,” he said, smiling as Sokka’s pupils blew out. His grip on Zuko’s neck tightened as he pulled Zuko back in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. Zuko moaned, still trying in vain to fit all of Sokka’s ass in his hands. He lifted on his toes to match his height, to try and find where they slotted together.

Sokka felt him straining, so he pulled away slightly to find the backs of Zuko’s thighs and pull them up around his waist. Zuko’s cry of surprise turned to a stuttering sigh as his ass settled around Sokka’s clothed cock. Sokka shuddered, knocking his forehead into Zuko’s so hard he was sure it would leave a bruise later. They breathed into each other for a moment, Sokka’s hands like vice grips around Zuko’s lean legs as Zuko’s hands still wandered over every inch of skin allotted to him. He scooped his chin up to catch Sokka’s lips, but Sokka escaped him, pressing a small reassuring kiss to the corner of Zuko’s mouth instead.

“Zuko,” he choked, his voice wrecked with want. “Zuko, we can’t do this.”

“I fired you, bitch.”

Sokka laughed easily. It was the first time Zuko had heard it in weeks. “I know, I mean we can’t do this right now. As much as I would like to make an absolute mess of you, I have a competition to finish and I’d rather not have our first time here, in this random ass alley.”

Zuko looked around him like he had just realized they were, in fact, in a public place. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Shit, I guess. Are you sure?”

Sokka laughed again, and carefully lowered Zuko onto his feet. “Noted, but yes. I am sure.”

Zuko just nodded, trying not to pout. His head was swimming with arousal. The heat where Sokka’s palm rested against his was his only anchor. “Are you gonna be okay, going back in? You know, with the…shorts situation?”

Sokka scratched at the buzzed side of his head. “It kind of takes a while to get up anyways, so I should be okay.”

“Why would it—? Oh.  _ Oh God. _ ” Zuko knocked his forehead into Sokka’s clavicle. “Why are you so perfect and big and  _ perfect _ ,” he groaned.

Sokka chuckled. “Thank you, I guess? But are you gonna be okay?” 

“No, but I’ll figure it out.”

Sokka kissed him again, deep and slow. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Tonight? My place?” Zuko bit at his lip when Sokka’s eyes widened a bit. Maybe that was too much, too forward? 

But Sokka smiled, and said, “Sure. I’ll bring eggs.”

It was Zuko’s turn to be surprised. “Eggs? What the fuck for?”

“Breakfast,” Sokka said simply, like it was entirely obvious. He kissed Zuko one last time on the cheek before slipping back inside.

It took another good twenty minutes for Zuko to calm down enough to go back inside, which was just as well to dispel any suspicions. He was horrified to see that his original chair was still the only one open, so he quietly shuffled back into it, careful to remain out of the view of Sokka’s sister. 

His efforts were in vain though. As soon as his ass hit the seat with a tiny thump, the smaller woman smacked Katara on the arm and jerked her head back without looking. 

Katara whipped around, her face contorting with shock, then bright understanding. “Oh my! Well. You must be Zuko,” she grinned. She offered him an unusually firm handshake, still staring at the sides of his face. “Sokka’s… talked about you a lot.”

Zuko tried not to blush. “Oh… Um, nice to meet you then, I guess. How did you know it was me?” Katara sputtered awkwardly. He sighed. “Was it the scar?”

Katara waved her hands. “No, no! Not at all. You just… You have some chalk on your face,” She whispered. “Glad it went well!” She gave him a small thumbs up before she turned again, ostensibly to give Zuko some privacy as he frantically wiped the oversized handprints off of his face and neck. 

Embarrassing himself in front of the family? Check.

**Author's Note:**

> for every comment, sokka gets to eat a grilled cheese!
> 
> i honestly did not expect this to get so long and they DIDNT EVEN FUCK! so let me know if you guys want a steamy sequel.
> 
> since the water tribes are inspired by inuit/north native american tribes, this video inspired katara and sokka's war cry: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HE2cuZCs4Vc


End file.
